


Look Over Yonder There, On The Farther Shore

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after "No Way Out." </p><p>Daryl reflects on Alexandria's last stand and what their victory bodes for the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Over Yonder There, On The Farther Shore

**Author's Note:**

> SOUNDTRACK: Ship of Gold by Clutch
> 
> _Look Over Yonder There,  
>  On The Farther Shore.  
> On The Farther Shore,  
> Look Over Yonder There.  
> I See A Ship Of Gold.  
> I See A Ship Of Gold.  
> Beyond That Mountain There,  
> I See A City-On-The-Hill.  
> Its Gates Are Open Wide.  
> I Hear The Ringing Bells._

Daryl dropped his knife and crumpled against Alexandria's wall, chest heaving, the wound in his back weeping blood down the inside of his vest. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and squinted up at the sky; the rank of propane, charred ground, and dead bodies oppressed an otherwise bright gray morning. Thin clouds draped over the sun, blotting the light as if softening the world in mercy. Daryl dropped his head and spit at the ground—bullshit.

 

He turned at approaching footsteps. It was Carol—of course—her knife sheathed at her hip, blood splattered across her white blouse. She appraised the pile of bodies Daryl had been amassing since before dawn, said “Sasha told me about your back,” and stopped beside him. “You should get to the infirmary.”

 

“'S fine,” Daryl dismissed. “There's other people...”

 

“Who have already gotten fixed up.” Carol touched his shoulder, then his jaw. He stiffened under her hand. “Carl's stable.”

 

Daryl glowered, remembering the stark image of Carl's face half covered in blood. Denise assured him it looked worse than it was. “It grazed his eye,” she had said, up to her elbows in blood, “that's it.”

 

Daryl scoffed and shook his head. Carol tensed, dropping her hand to her side. “What is it?”

 

Daryl laughed shortly. “This.” He swung his arm out, gesturing to the pile of bodies. “All of it.”

 

“You saved us,” Carol said, “with the fire in the lake.”

 

“I should have been here sooner,” Daryl said. “I shouldn't have fucking—trusted them.”

 

Carol stepped closer, taking one of Daryl's shaking fists in both of her hands. “Who were they?” she asked.

 

“I asked them the questions,” he said, staring at Carol's hands. “I was stupid. They took my bike, my crossbow. I just.” He met Carol's eyes. “There's these other people, working for some guy named Negan. They nearly killed Abraham and Sasha.”

 

“I know,” she murmured. “Sasha told me that too.”

 

“We gotta—”

 

“You gotta go get your back patched up.”

 

“But—”

 

“You're a hero, Daryl,” said Carol firmly, patting his chest. “Deal with it.”

 

He looked at the infirmary, where all the non-wounded survivors congregated in macabre silence. Carol walked away to join them. She spoke to Father Gabriel, whose machete was stained with gore and eyes steeled, same as all the previously weak-minded Alexandrians. _Good for them_ , Daryl thought, then sheathed his knife and shoved past them all, head down. The silence grew around him. Before he got to the door Tara took his shoulder. “Daryl,” she called, “wait up!”

 

Daryl turned around, lips pursed. Tara smiled and held out her fist. He shook his head and bumped it with his own.

 

“Chill,” Tara said, her face slipping into something more serious but not any less friendly. “It's all of us now, you know?”

 

Before he could ask her to explain what the fuck that meant Denise was at the door. “There you are,” she snapped. Tara beamed upon seeing her, and Daryl snorted. They both corralled him onto a bed. The room was thankfully empty of any other conscious persons.

 

“You got codes of confidentiality and shit right, doc?” he asked Denise.

 

She wheeled over a tray of gauze and disinfectant. “Of course.”

 

Daryl shrugged off his vest and flipped it over to the back, inspecting the tear from the knife. “Alright.” He tossed the vest onto the opposite end of the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt.

 

When it slipped off his shoulders Tara made a small noise of concern. Denise scowled. “Were you hiding something—Oh.” She had rounded the bed and saw the scars.

 

“Yeah,” Daryl huffed.

 

Tara clapped his shoulder. Denise began spewing off information about the cut, mostly for herself. “It's not infected and it didn't go in deep, just broke the skin.”

 

“Of course it didn't,” Daryl said, cocking his head. “I didn't let him get past the tip.”

 

Tara began laughing uncontrollably. It was a nice sound to hear. Daryl swung his foot out and prodded her in the leg. “Fuck off, asshole. You know what I mean.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Tara said, tearing open a pad of disinfectant.

 

Daryl grunted. The quiet was unwinding his body, making all his aches more prominent. “You shouldn't be makin' fun of me,” he muttered, grinning. “I blasted those bastards to shreds.”

 

“Holy shit,” Tara said.

 

“RPG,” Daryl explained.

 

“The lake too?” Denise asked.

 

“Yup,” Daryl said.

 

“Man...” Tara slapped his hand and pulled back in a weird, one-sided handshake. “You're a certified badass.”

 

Daryl expected guilt and the omnipresent regret that he could have done more, but it never came. Tara was smiling at him, Denise's hands cool against his burning wound, Carl in the next room alive if not anything else, and it was okay.

 

Michonne walked in with Judith and leaned against the doorjamb to watch Denise's ministrations.

 

“How's Asskicker?” Daryl asked.

 

Michonne smirked. “Still kickin' ass.”

 

“Good,” Daryl said.

 

Someone rushed to the door and Rick stepped into the room. Covered in blood and sweat, he touched Judith's soft downy hair with his bandaged hand, glanced up at Michonne, then focused his gaze on Daryl, who nodded with a slow dip of his head. Rick swallowed and went into the separate room to be with his son. Daryl looked down at the shut of the door.

 

“So,” Tara began, dropping into a chair beside the window, “what are we gonna do?”

 

Daryl lifted his head. “About what?”

 

“The people Sasha and Abraham talked about.”

 

“Negan,” Daryl clarified.

 

“Yeah.” She fumbled with the empty disinfectant package, tearing up the corners. “We're going to expand. They won't stop us.”

 

“I won't let them,” Daryl promised.

 

Tara tossed the paper into a trashcan filled with bloodied bandages. “ _We_ won't,” she corrected. “It's all of us now,” she repeated.

 

“She's right,” Denise said, lifting Daryl's shirt back up over his bandaged wound. Daryl pulled the shirt over his shoulders and buttoned it up to his chest.

 

“Okay,” Daryl said.

 

The door to Carl's room opened and everyone stilled. Rick looked to Daryl. “We need to talk.”

 

Daryl bit back a sigh and slid off the bed. Rick shut the door behind him. Carl was pale as the sky outside, flecked with blood and grime. Daryl sank to the chair at the boy's bedside and covered his face with his hands.

 

Rick laid a hand on the nape of Daryl's neck. “Hey,” he whispered. Daryl prepared for Rick's hand to tighten around his neck but Rick kneeled and wrapped his arms around Daryl instead, rested his forehead against Daryl's shoulder. “Thank you,” he said.

 

Daryl lowered his hands to cup them around Rick's forearm. Rick was not shaking. When Daryl turned his head Rick looked up silently.

 

“You're welcome,” Daryl replied, half of his voice stuck in his throat.

 

“You saved us,” Rick said. “You saved him.”

 

“No,” said Daryl, reflecting on Tara's sentiment, “we saved each other.”

 

Rick glanced at his son. “We did.” He cracked into a smile. “An RPG?” he asked. “Really?”

 

“Abraham found it,” Daryl explained. “I'm happier about the box of cigars.” He touched Carl's upturned wrist, felt his pulse. “When you wake up,” he said to Carl, “you'll smoke one. You deserve it, kid.”

 

Rick stood, knees cracking, and sat on the mattress next to Carl's legs. He took his son's hand. Daryl made to retract his hold but Rick caught him. “It's fine,” Rick said, guiding Daryl's hand back to Carl's arm.

 

Daryl dropped his head to the soft sheets. Rick's other hand returned to his neck. He closed his eyes. “It's fine,” he murmured, and truly believed it.


End file.
